


Kingship, And What Comes Next

by CatKing_Catkin



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bittersweet, Brother Feels, Brotherly Love, Crying, Depression, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Repressed, Future Fic, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Headcanon, Hopeful Ending, King Papyrus, Past Character Death, Politics, Post-Neutral Route, Present Tense, Protective Sans, Years Later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-05-01 00:20:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5185109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatKing_Catkin/pseuds/CatKing_Catkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"since you left, things have gotten really strange. overnight, a bunch of people mysteriously disappeared, as well as the human souls. people were heart-broken. everyone they looked up to, everything they were relying on, in one night, disappeared. everyone clamored to elect a new ruler as fast as possible. so, uh...by process of elimination...papyrus became the ruler?"</p><p>This is the story of the Underground after Sans hung up the phone, after Papyrus took the throne. There's no one left to guide him, no one left to look up to. Papyrus doesn't want to let anyone down, especially not Sans when his brother is working so hard to support him. Sans doesn't want to let Papyrus down, when his brother really is all he has left.</p><p>They make mistakes, they miss one another, but together, they try to figure things out.</p><p>This is a story about growing up, moving on, and what's important in life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kingship, And What Comes Next

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably the Neutral ending that fascinates me the most, though all of them introduce their own fascinating possibilities for how life might have proceeded after Sans hung up the phone, especially if Frisk never reset. And I think it fascinates me because it's one of maybe three moments in the game where you really see Papyrus *falter*. Where you see that despite Sans' heartfelt efforts to keep him innocent and safe, Papyrus is not unaware of what's really going on around him. He is, at least to some extent, aware of how other people see him and depend on his good attitude - especially Sans. He is, in his own way, trying to protect Sans, too.
> 
> So Papyrus is trying to keep up a happy face and Sans is suddenly working hard and neither of them wanted this life. But overall, given time and especially with Sans to watch his back, I think Papyrus would make a good king. He cares, he learns, and he doesn't give up. Even Asgore probably didn't have much more to work with, at the start. 
> 
> Overall, as long as these two have each other, I think they'll always find a way to make it all work out. And maybe find the time to have some long-overdue conversations.

Papyrus is not good at being a king. Not like Asgore was.

But Papyrus is a _good_ king, and his subjects respond to that. Most of them don’t even know that he’s not good at being a king. Sans is okay with that. He works hard every damn day, for as long as it takes and using whatever tricks are at his disposal, to make sure that no one ever knows.

Monsters will never escape the Underground. Monsters, perhaps, should never escape the Underground – not while humans exist like the one who took so many of their greatest heroes from them so quickly, who robbed them of their greatest hope. Beneath the mountain, even if they are trapped, they are safe.

At least until another human falls down.

Sans considers ordering the doors the ruins to be sealed forever, the entrance destroyed. The monsters that live there have clearly decided to stay there. The woman with the wonderfully terribly sense of humor doesn’t answer his knocks anymore.

In the end, he can’t bring himself to do it. He can’t bring himself to give up hope that completely. Not when too many others already have – maybe those aren’t the noblest motivations, but they get the job done. For now, he just orders the area to be laden down with more traps. A deep, dark, unworthy part of him considers including a pit of spikes or something equally unpleasant. But, no.

He still has a promise to keep.

Maybe, when humans have at last destroyed themselves, have at last faded completely from the world above, the barrier will dissolve on its own, and they can take their place alone and unharmed back under the open sky. For now, they endure. They rebuild. It’s not the first time.

The cases of monsters “falling down” spikes for a while after news of Asgore’s death spreads, as some fail in the struggle to cling to hope. Papyrus goes to visit them and their families, if they have any. If permitted, he sits and talks to the comatose monsters himself, exhorting them not to give up.

It usually doesn’t work. As far as Sans can tell, no one ever actually _eats_ the spaghetti Papyrus has sent along in condolence afterwards – without Undyne, his cooking certainly hasn’t gotten any better. Still, the gesture takes on a symbolic meaning, nonetheless. Uncooked pasta almost takes the place of flowers as a sign of emotional support. Stranger things have happened, Sans supposes.

If the fallen monsters have nowhere else to go, Papyrus asks for them to be brought back to the palace, to at least be made comfortable before they turn to dust.

Once or twice, however, the talking does work. That _really_ gets the monsters talking, and more importantly, it gets the monsters hoping again. Cases fall, and then slowly disappear.  If this results in the daily torrent of paperwork pouring into the palace to grow even more…well, Sans keeps up. He finds a way.

A lot of the letters are letters directly to his brother – not even asking for funds or resources or his word in resolving a dispute, just expressing their daily fears, their struggles. They need to know that someone is listening, and they either have no one else in their lives or don’t want to bother those that they do.

Sans is careful to only let Papyrus see enough letters that he has enough time to reply to. The others, he takes care of himself. He knows his brother well, after all, certainly enough to emulate his writing style. He certainly knows how it feels, to take hope and strength from Papyrus’ seemingly boundless good will and enthusiasm.

It seems to work, or at least, the letters keep coming.

One thing Sans never finds the time for is to fake a postcard from Undyne or Asgore or Mettaton or Alphys. He knows that he needs to. He knows that Papyrus misses his friends. But no matter how carefully he nudges time to cooperate or how carefully he skips ahead or back or through, there’s just not enough of it. Whenever there is, he usually sleeps. Or else he lets Papyrus convince him to step outside for a little while.

Once, they wind up in one of New Home’s few parks, and Papyrus ends up playing puzzle games with the local kids until their parents call them home for supper. Sans lays down on a bench and watches them from a safe distance with drowsy, half-open eyes, and remembers for a little while what it is to feel happy.

Still, it never seems a fair trade, the next time Papyrus mentions offhandedly that he wonders how his friends are doing, that he hopes they write soon, that he misses them and haven’t they been gone a while?

Sans always changes the subject when he does, because he has always been and will always be a coward.

Then he blinks, and it’s been nearly two years, and he can’t remember the last time Papyrus asked.

Maybe he’s just decided to be content with the knowledge that his friends are happy. Maybe he thinks they’ve forgotten about him. Maybe both. Sans doesn’t know which possibility is worse. He can’t bring himself to ask.

Most of Papyrus’ proposed policies are very “out there”. Not all of them work, and Sans has to scramble to clean up the mess. Sometimes, however, they do. For one example, the number of disputes that actually make it to the throne room goes down drastically after Papyrus decrees that anyone with a problem big enough to need his judgment must be willing to work together with one another on one of his puzzles. A lot of things can get worked out in a big hurry, in the midst of one of Papyrus’ puzzles.

For another, the hole in the mountain where the humans fall down or the river that carries the trash can’t be the only gap to the outside world, right? Even if the barrier covers all of Mt. Ebott, it can’t stop the sun or the rain. Having seen what even the promise of sunlight can do for his subjects, Papyrus tries to organize expeditions to find such places which might be a little closer to the outside, which might be able to take advantage of even a few gasps of light.

This mountain isn’t much, but it’s theirs’, and so they might as well make the very best of it.

He gets some takers. They venture off into the deepest depths of Snowdin Woods, and months later a letter arrives reporting that they’ve found something on the other side. More monsters follow, the light of hope in their eyes.

In the meantime, Snowdin receives some long-needed repairs and even begins a minor expansion of its own. It’s not much – just a proper ice-skating rink, and an extension to the library. Sans has to go anyway, just to make sure everything is above-board and proceeding as reported.

There are new monsters living in their house. There are new names painted on the mailboxes. Sans doesn’t remember signing over the house. That doesn’t necessarily mean anything, though, since he doesn’t remember most of the paperwork he has to sift through most days.

He stands for a while, watching the faint signs of movement and life that are visible through the window. But only for a little while, and then he heads back.

A blink, and then its six months later, and he’s fallen asleep at his desk. He wakes up to the feeling of Papyrus trying to retrieve a form from underneath his head.

“pap? uh, wha’s goin’ on?” Sans asks blearily, lifting his head. The paper comes with it, having stuck to his cheek from how long he’d been sleeping there. As he blinks the sleep from his eyes, he sees to his surprise that a small circle of clear desk had been made around him, the papers having been taken and stacked over on his spare chair. Papyrus, meanwhile, has stepped sharply back on being discovered at whatever it was he was doing.

“OH,” his brother says, scratching at his cheek, looking almost shamefaced. “YOU’RE AWAKE.”

“careful, bro, you sound disappointed.” Sans grins teasingly up at him, tipping his chair back on two legs, before taking a fresh look around.

A horrible feeling of dread settles just beneath his ribs. “…what’ve you been doing?” Unfortunately, he suspects he already knows.

“I WANTED IT TO BE A SURPRISE. YOU’VE BEEN WORKING SO HARD AND YOU’VE SEEMED EVEN MORE TIRED THAN USUAL, AND…”

Sans doesn’t give him a chance to finish. He all but leaps for the stack of papers to go sifting through them, and he knows within the first three that they’ve all been done wrong.

Papyrus is still talking. Sans can hear him, but he can’t hear the words. It feels like there’s an iron band around his skull being drawn tighter and tighter and any second it’s going to crack. His vision is blurring with exhaustion and frustration and it’s going to be yet another sleepless night. That in and of itself is nothing new, but this time the thought settles in his head like a twining vine – unwanted and yet inescapable – that this time, _Papyrus is the cause_.

“get out.”

“W-WHAT? BUT, SANS…”

He’s so tired and torn that he’s shaking, fingerbones rattling against one another around the sheaf of paper, as he turns to look up at his brother.

_(And even if he lives a thousand years, Papyrus will never forget the way his brother’s eyes are, just for a moment, empty as pits.)_

_“I need to fix these. Leave.”_

And Papyrus, King of All Monsters, whimpers as he turns and flees the room. Sans stares after him, unseeing, his vision blinded by bright pinpricks of tension and a red mist. As they clear, he replays the last few minutes in his head.

He feels sick when he does, even though in the end he still spends a little while correcting the paperwork anyway. All the while he can feel his sins crawling on his back. He makes a few mistakes of his own, and hopes that maybe they can wait until morning. In the end, the emotional part of him is aching and bleeding so badly that he’s on the verge of time-skipping himself after his brother without the conscious choice involved at all. So he makes the conscious choice, instead, and goes looking.

The throne room is lit only by the field of golden flowers still growing across the floor, and he can hear his brother crying. The sound makes Sans want to lay down and die, yet Papyrus is also the only one who’s ever given him the strength to move forward. So he does, padding softly across the mossy floor towards the throne, trying to ignore the way his very tall brother still seems lost in its shadow.

Sans’ mind is already racing with explanations, apologies, excuses that he tries to swallow down because in the end they’re just that. When he’s certain that Papyrus must have heard his approach, he dares to open his mouth.

“papyrus, i’m, um…”

“I’M SO TIRED, SANS.”

Sans closes his mouth so quickly that his teeth click together.

His brother lifts his head, and the remains of liquid magic tears are still visible on his cheeks. Sans creeps closer, enough to hop up onto the arm of the throne, and reaches out to rest a hand gently on Papyrus’ shoulder. The taller skeleton’s bones rattle faintly with the force of his exhaled sigh, and Sans lets himself believe that he seems a little more relaxed in the next moment.

Good. Maybe Sans isn’t an irredeemable jerk yet, then.

“why’re you tired, pap?” he asks quietly. _What’d I do wrong,_ he wants to ask. _I was trying to make sure you didn’t have to be_ , he wants to say, _because I need you to keep smiling as much as any of them._

He doesn’t say any of that. He listens, instead. Clearly, he’s overdue.

“I’M TIRED BECAUSE EVERYONE NEEDS ME. AND BECAUSE THINGS ARE CHANGING AND, AND I DON’T KNOW IF THEY’RE GOING TO BE GOOD CHANGES OR BAD CHANGES! AND BECAUSE IT’S BEEN A REALLY LONG TIME SINCE WE’VE SEEN A HUMAN. OR SINCE I’VE MADE SPAGHETTI, OR A NEW PUZZLE. BUT MOSTLY…”

Orange tears begin to pool anew in his eyesockets, only to fall anew down his cheeks. He lifts his head to look at Sans, and the misery Sans sees in his brother’s eyes almost makes him cry, too.

He almost wishes he would. He doesn’t. Sans gave up on crying a dozen resets ago, and he’s never remembered how to start again.

“…I’M TIRED BECAUSE, NO MATTER WHAT I DO FOR EVERYONE ELSE, I CAN’T FIGURE OUT ANYTHING TO DO FOR _YOU_. YOU’RE SO TIRED ALL THE TIME, AND YOU HARDLY TALK ANYMORE, AND YOU COME HOME SO LATE…”

And he’d yelled at him. Papyrus doesn’t mention it. Papyrus probably doesn’t even hold it against him, even now. But Sans tries to recall the last time he’d ever looked at his brother with empty eyes.

He can’t.

“oh, _papyrus_ …” Sans whispers helplessly, his grip tightening protectively for a moment on his brother’s shoulder.

He moves more decisively than he has in weeks, maybe years. He hops down off the throne, looks to his brother, and holds out his arms.

“c’mere. please?”

He barely needs to ask. Papyrus doesn’t hesitate, and Sans doesn’t even want to think about how long it’s been since they’ve stopped and done even this much for each other. However long it’s been, his bones _ache_ with the long-neglected familiarity, with how much he’s missed the way their ribs and arms fit together. It’s a good hug, and they both need it, and Sans is an _idiot_.

“i’m sorry, papyrus,” he murmurs, as Papyrus cries himself out. “i’m sorry. i didn’t mean…i only wanted to help. to make this easier on you, because i can’t smile and make everyone hope and bring them _alive_ like you can. you shouldn’t have gotten stuck with this job just because there was no one else, and i was so angry that you did, and I was so scared that you’d _change_...”

…no. None of that matters now. What matters most is what Sans says next, after closing his eyes and steeling his soul. His voice, when he speaks again, is mercifully steady.

“i’m sorry. i’ve been stupid and dumb. you’re right – you’re the king now, and you’re a good one, so you should learn this stuff. and you’re a smart guy, papyrus. you _can_ learn this stuff. i’ll teach you. we’ll work together. it’ll be okay now.”

“DO YOU PROMISE?”

Sans still hates making promises. He still doesn’t hesitate. “yeah,” he says, and means it with every bone. “i promise.”

“SANS?”

“yeah?”

“I REALLY MISS UNDYNE.”

He could tell the truth now. He should tell the truth now. It’s been years, and there is no possible vacation that could have lasted this long. The alternative is to let Papyrus think his friends had abandoned him when he still needs their support more than ever.

Sans doesn’t tell the truth. He tells himself that that would be cruel, to deal yet another wound when Papyrus has already been emotionally wrung out once tonight. Sans is not cruel by nature, even when perhaps he should be. Even if Undyne and the others might still be alive if he had been.

It’s been years. Surely a little while longer won’t make things any worse.

“i know. me, too. but hey, they should be back any day now, right?”

But it’s been years, and even Sans has stopped believing that a reset is ever going to come.

Instead, almost fussily, he uses his sleeve to scrub the tears from Papyrus’ cheeks, and then tugs him up off his knees, and changes the subject. “c’mon. we’ll get started now. no time like the present, right?”

He still knows his brother that well, in the end. As he’d hoped, as he’d expected, Papyrus’ eyelights damn near glow with a renewed surge of energy and will. He all but leaps to his feet, fistpumping with his free hand. “EXACTLY RIGHT!”

His other hand remains holding tight to Sans’, as though he’s still a babybones that might get lost on the way to the store.

Yet Sans is the one who feels like he’s just been found, as he leads the way back to his office.

There are a lot more sleepless nights from there. Even so, for the first time in too damn long, it feels like he’s actually making progress working towards something, rather than just trying not to be buried alive. Papyrus makes mistakes, and some of the mistakes he makes are actually breathtaking in their sheer creativity. There’s one particularly memorable incident where he _would_ have completed the form perfectly if he didn’t somehow also do the entire thing backwards, and Sans laughs himself dizzy before helping him correct it.

At least Papyrus never makes the same mistake twice. Sans always stays on hand to review his work and his decisions and his numbers. If it’s a fresh level of exhausting, it also gives him the pleasure and the pride of being reminded just how quickly Papyrus learns when he sets his mind to a task. Sans knows how to be patient with him, Sans takes care to be patient with him, and Papyrus responds to that.

And being king suits him. It’s a realization that hits Sans upside the head one night weeks later, as they sit on opposite sits of two tables pushed together. The mound of paperwork has decreased enough that he can actually see Papyrus over the top of it. He sees that his brother is working so intently that his jaw is set slightly crooked in that way he’s always had since he was small, and being king suits him. Tonight, Sans won’t check his work with anything but the most cursory glances. Tonight, he doubts he’ll need to.

It’s been years, and Papyrus has grown into the role that was thrust upon him at last.

Papyrus cares about the monsters, cares about them as their own beings and not just subjects, and he has the energy to keep caring, every damn day. He has the energy and the courage to do whatever it takes for them. When he listens, it’s because he’s interested, even if he doesn’t always understand. When he renders a decision, it’s because he wants justice to be done and everyone to be happy, even if accomplishing both isn’t always possible. He still seems to make it happen way more often than should strictly be possible.

No, he’s not perfect. Still, even Asgore couldn’t have known how to be king from the start of it all. Papyrus has had to figure this out all on his own, figure out the ways and means and whys of ruling above and beyond the daily load of paperwork that Sans has taken on himself. That shouldn’t be too surprising, perhaps. After all, his brother always was one to leap on any challenge that presented itself.

Sans allows himself to glance out his office window, at New Home where it lays dark and sleeping peacefully around them. He allows himself to bask for a moment in the simple truth that Papyrus seems to be figuring things out all right, and maybe things are going to be okay one day.

“SANS? ARE YOU OKAY? DO YOU NEED TO GO HOME?”

He does, and they both know it. Sans still shakes his head, and looks back at his brother with a smile that hasn’t come so easily in much too long.

“nah. i was just thinking. you know, papyrus…you’ve, uh, you’ve grown up okay. and…” His eyesockets prickle a little, and Sans rubs at his eyesockets against the threat of tears. It proves to be a wasted effort, a leftover habit. They don’t come. His voice, however, breaks with emotion on what he says next.

“…i’m proud of you.”

He hasn’t said that enough, lately, and so Sans pours months and maybe years of not-saying into those four words.

Papyrus hears him, and looks genuinely flustered for a moment, and Sans’ soul hurts that praise from him should ever have come to be unexpected by his brother.

But when he ducks his head to return to his work, Sans hears him give a little “nyeh-heh-heh” to himself. He smiles to himself, and takes solace in the fact that at least they’re moving back in the right direction together.

Life is still busy. Life will probably always be busy from now on. Yet far from exhausting him as Sans had feared it would, Papyrus seems genuinely galvanized just from helping Sans work, and that shows in all other aspects of his rulership.

There are less sleepless nights, and even less nights where Sans comes home so late that he has to wake Papyrus up to read him his bedtime story. When there are sleepless nights, it’s because Papyrus has stayed up with him. Furthermore, Sans takes on some of Papyrus’ burdens, too. It seems only fair. Sometimes, he sits on the throne in his brother’s place, to listen or decide. He turns out to not be terrible at it. If it’s tiring work, it’s at least a different kind of tiring. Besides, monsters still know him, monsters still like him, and even those who don’t still trust wholeheartedly that he’s speaking with his brother’s voice.

Over two years pass, and this time, they pass in something more than a blink.

*  *  *

Its been five years to the day since Papyrus’ coronation, and the two of them even get the chance to enjoy some of the festivities this time.

And now it’s late, and they can hear the last remnants of the celebration going on outside the house. Nevertheless, the two kings of the Underground are safe inside, sitting on their couch and watching TV. Sans is curled up on one side under a blanket, Papyrus is sprawled out on the other side. In five years, several hopeful actors have arisen to try and fill the void left by Mettaton in the Underground’s collective and sometimes metaphorical hearts. Though, the channel itself has always kept his name out of respect.

Some of them aren’t bad. Sans still has his doubts that anything will ever quite capture the imagination the way “Cooking With a Killer Robot” did. Still, it isn’t bad background music to doze off to, and Sans is halfway to doing just that, when Papyrus speaks in a voice as quiet as he can ever manage.

“SANS?”

“yeah, pap?”

“UNDYNE AND THE OTHERS…AREN’T COMING BACK, ARE THEY?”

Silence falls between them. Even the murmur of the TV seems to be miles away. Sans’ ears are ringing, and his fingerbones are cold, as he slowly pulls the blanket up and over his head. It’s a very babybones thing to do. It’s just that even the symbolic act of walling himself off is the only way he can say what he does next.

“no.”

 _Who told you_ , he wants to ask, and realizes that’s the wrong question. Perhaps the more accurate question would be, _How long have you known?_ He can’t bring himself to ask that either, though.

“THEY’RE…THEY’RE DEAD, AREN’T THEY?”

“yeah. i’m sorry.” For lying to him. For losing them. For a lot of things.

He feels ridiculous, asking what he does next. And yet in doing so, Sans realizes just how much the question has been weighing on him for a long time.

“are you mad at me?” _Do you hate me?_

“WHAT?!”

Sans feels fingers tugging at the blanket, feels hands closing around his shoulders and heaving him carefully but firmly upright. He doesn’t resist, even if he can’t bring himself in that moment to lift his head to meet Papyrus’ gaze. He stares instead straight ahead, at the taller skeleton’s chest, and the words “Cool Dude” emblazoned on his shirt. The old one had worn away into unreadability a long time ago. Papyrus had simply improved a new one.

“SANS, WHY WOULD I BE MAD AT YOU?”

“because i could have saved them.” The words come as easily as a well-worn mantra. If he’d just been willing to break a promise to a nice lady with a bad sense of humor, maybe he could have saved them. If he hadn’t been so damn afraid of losing Papyrus, too, maybe he could have saved them.

“…YOU MEAN, IF YOU’D KILLED THAT HUMAN, RIGHT?”

“yeah.”

Papyrus hugs him, and for a long moment, Sans just lets himself be hugged. One of his brother’s hands rests protectively on the back of his skull, and for a long moment, Sans just lets himself be protected.

“SANS, I WOULD NEVER WANT YOU TO DO THAT TO YOURSELF. WE PROMISED EACH OTHER A LONG TIME AGO THAT WE WOULD NEVER GAIN ANY LOVE, RIGHT?”

Sans nods – there are two things in his life that he would consider to be undisputed successes. The first is that he’s always been there to read Papyrus his bedtime story. The second is that he’s never gained a single execution point, let alone a full level of violence. Neither has Papyrus. They’ve trained in their own ways to compensate for that.

And now, at the end of it all, here they stand together.

“EVEN IF THE HUMAN HAD HURT ME, I WOULDN’T HAVE WANTED YOU TO DO THAT.”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Sans hisses suddenly, vehemently, the very idea of it causing a genuine physical ache to race up his spine. He turns just enough to wrap his arms around Papyrus as well, gripping him with a ferocious protectiveness of his own, burying his face against Papyrus’ shirt. “don’t even talk about that.”

Papyrus doesn’t, and so silence falls between them for a few moments more. The taller skeleton’s fingerbones are slightly rough against the back of Sans’ skull. He finds the contrast soothing.

At last, Papyrus speaks once more, and Sans listens quietly as he fumbles for the words.

“I…I WISH THE HUMAN HADN’T KILLED THEM. MAYBE THEY WERE SCARED, OR LOST, OR DIDN’T KNOW WHAT ELSE TO DO. I STILL WISH THEY HADN’T. I KNOW THEY COULD ALL HAVE BEEN GREAT FRIENDS, IF THE HUMAN HADN’T HURT THEM.”

“i know, papyrus.”

“BUT THAT DOESN’T MEAN YOU SHOULD HAVE HURT THE HUMAN! WE DIDN’T KNOW THEY WERE BAD, AT THE START! YOU’RE THE ONE WHO TOLD ME THAT WE CAN’T SAY HUMANS ARE ALL BAD OR ALL GOOD, RIGHT, SANS? THAT’S WHY WE GIVE THEM PUZZLES INSTEAD!”

“yeah, it is.” Not that there have been any humans for puzzles to be given to, since that one. Mostly, though, Sans had just wanted to strike a balance between inviting war and making themselves a target again. Time will tell if he’s made the right decision, and it seems that the Underground in general has time to spare these days.  

“EVEN IF I MISS THEM…I WON’T GIVE UP! I CAN’T GIVE UP! PEOPLE NEED ME TO NOT GIVE UP, TO SHOW THEM HOW TO GIVE UP ON GIVING UP! AND EVEN IF SHE CAN’T COME BACK, MAYBE WHEREVER SHE IS, UNDYNE CAN STILL BE PROUD OF ME!”

He rests his chin on top of Sans’ head, and for a moment, the weariness in Papyrus’ bones in damn near palpable. And yet in the next moment, his impossibly cool brother manages to turn it all around and audibly seize onto hope again, with the last thing that Sans would ever expect to bring hope to anyone.

“AND I STILL HAVE YOU! AND I’M HAPPY ABOUT THAT. YOU’VE GROWN UP OKAY, SANS, AND…I’M PROUD OF YOU, TOO.”

There’s something on his face. There’s something damp and cold on his cheeks, and when Sans lifts a hand to brush against it, his fingers come away blue.

It takes his thoughts, muddled as they are beneath the weight of the conversation, to properly realize what he’s seeing, what he’s _feeling_ bubbling up inside his soul.

“oh,” Sans murmurs when he does, as the tears continue to fall. It seems a horribly inadequate thing to say, when he can’t even remember the last time he cried, let alone in…happiness?

A sob tears free from him, and it _hurts_. Yet it’s not a bad sort of pain, not at all. He sobs again, just to _feel_ it, feel all of this poison and pain from too many resets and too much loss pouring out of him with the tears and leaving him feeling ruthlessly scrubbed clean in their place. And once it starts, the torrent of emotion doesn’t stop for a long, long while.

Papyrus is there for every second of it, and is as solid as a wall for Sans to lean against as the gasps and sobs fade away to hiccups and whimpers. At last, Sans sits up, scrubbing industriously at his face with his sleeve even if it leaves his sleeve blue. He looks up at his brother, and he smiles, and it doesn’t hurt.

“thanks, papyrus.” He chuckles ruefully, and then moves to get off the couch, not without some reluctance. “but, um…i think that’s definitely a sign that it’s bedtime, for me. look at me, making an idiot out of myself.”

“YOU ARE NOT AN IDIOT, BUT YES, YOU SHOULD STILL GO TO SLEEP!” To Sans’ faint surprise and not-so-faint delight, Papyrus gets up with him. “AND TO HELP YOU DO SO, I DECLARE AS KING OF THE UNDERGROUND THAT I SHALL READ YOU A BEDTIME STORY TONIGHT!”

“oh, yeah? hey, far be it for me to go against a royal decree. uh, this is a pretty big thing, though – maybe enough to warrant breaking out the first ‘fluffy bunny’ book?”

“MOST DEFINITELY!”

The book itself is tattered and worn with the weight of years and hundreds of readings. Yet that’s never mattered. They both know the story by heart, by now, and sometimes you just can’t beat the classics.

Some things never change. Some things never should.


End file.
